Love Drunk (Love Me Duet 1)

Oh, fuck no!

My heart rate picks up at his words.

“Why don’t you leave me and find yourself another woman? One who is better suited to your needs.”

He slaps me, hard, but not on my face, and not with his hand. No. He slaps my clit with his cock. It’s unexpected, and I yelp then attempt to close my legs which is impossible considering he’s right there.

“I’ll never leave you, Everly. I told you. I own you. And you’re perfect for me.”

I manage to sit up on my elbows. “And I own you.” I reach for him, sick of his games, and pull him down to me. He comes without a fight, and I roll him over so his back hits the dirt, and reach between us for his cock, directing it inside me and sliding down.

He smiles in surprise then I slap him.

Hard.

Again.

And again.

Each movement of me going down then up, I slap him.

He takes it. He even smirks through it and holds onto me, but ultimately lets me take control. When I realize he’s letting me, I lean down and bite his nipple, hard, to the point where I want to pull the damn thing off in some sort of retaliation. His hands grip my ass as I ride him, and his fingers dig in but again he doesn’t stop me.

Sitting up, my hands hold onto him, digging into his chest. I don’t stop even when I feel the sticky blood oozing from the wounds I’m inflicting on his perfect skin.

He can take it. He can take it, I tell myself as I come.

When I do, I collapse on top of him.

He strokes my hair which is full of dirt.

“There she is, my dirty little slut.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, you did, my love. You did.” He rolls me off him, and I lie in the dirt not even caring. When I look up, he reaches for me, but I don’t take his hand. Instead, I get up myself pulling the shirt down to cover my ass and start walking back to the house.

My vagina now hurting like a bitch.

“No more sex, I’m too sore.”

“Yes, my love.”

I turn around to face him. “Don’t play that game, you suck at it. Now I see who you really are.” I slap him again, just because I can. When I go to do it again, he grips my wrist, stopping me.

“This is who I am, I just showed you my tamer side. You couldn’t handle who I was at the beginning, you needed time.”

“You think this is enough time?” I ask him, throwing my hands up in the air. “No one in their right mind would be okay with this shit.”

“You are.”

“No. I’m damn well not. Stop tricking yourself into believing I am. I’m not. N.O.T. Not.”

He steps up close. “But you are.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I huff.

I’m never going to get anywhere with him. Arguing with him about it is just frustrating and exhausting. Turning and walking back inside, I go straight for the shower. He follows me in and helps wash me. He’s tender when he touches between my legs, and I don’t attempt to stop him when he washes me.

It’s a softness to him that I’m not used to but quite enjoy. This is the part I was hoping for on our honeymoon, not being tied to the ceiling and being fucked in the dirt.

“You’re the only woman I have ever loved. Do you know that?” His washcloth comes up to my breasts and he’s gentle with them as well. I’m red, purple and black all over. I look like I’ve been attacked. I have—by my husband.

“Tell me, am I the only man you’ve loved?”

“You are,” I tell him the truth.

“Explain your love for me. Make me understand.”

“No,” I argue back. “You tell me yours.”

He doesn’t hesitate as he starts while he continues to wash me, his voice soft and his hands gentle. “At first I didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t something I’ve ever dealt with before. But when you looked at me the way you did at your parents’ place when you found out the truth, I knew then that I would never let you go. That you were mine no matter the cost.”

“Even if it meant everything you’ve built?” I ask him, knowing full well how much he works and how hard he works. He stops wiping me, lets the washcloth drop to the floor, then gently strokes my face.

“I would give up everything for you, Everly Reid.”

The name knocks the wind out of me.

That night, when I go to sleep in his arms, I dream of him.

25

The day is quiet, and we don’t speak much. Neither of us has any words left to give, and I’m tired, physically and emotionally. He cooks for me, treats me well all day. It’s a change from what this place has been for us the last few days. But I’m waiting, waiting for that other shoe to drop and knock the wind out of me again. Every time he comes near me, I flinch. He cares for my bruised body and is gentle with me.